Fire and Ice
by Gwendolyn James
Summary: They say that this is a battle between good and evil. Between light and dark. But I say that this battle is between fire and ice. Love and hate. One-shot.


Disclaimer: Not mine! The poem at the beginning is by Robert Frost, whom I adore.

A/N: This little thing was a Christmas gift-fic for the lovely Seren. Nothing like a good character study to make you happy, eh? ;)

* * *

_Some say the world will end in fire;  
Some say in ice.__  
From what I've tasted of desire__  
I hold with those who favor fire.__  
But if it had to perish twice,__  
I think I know enough of hate__  
To know that for destruction ice__  
Is also great__  
And would suffice._  
_- Robert Frost_

_

* * *

_

They say that this could be the end.

The end of our lives. The end of our world. The end of everything we know, everything we hold dear.

I hold tightly to that lifeline; that tiny, almost insignificant word in the middle.

_Could_.

This _could_ be the end. No one ever has the nerve to say that this _will_ be the end. Perhaps they think it, but no one says it.

I won't say it.

I won't believe it.

It's not true. This is _not_ the end. I won't let it be the end.

It's a daunting task – I'll admit that much – but I refuse to see my world destroyed. I won't let him win. I won't let him take away those things that are most precious to me.

He won't take Ron. He won't take Harry.

He won't take me.

I know what you're thinking: _It's not your responsibility. Harry's the one who has to fight. He's the one who has to win._ Maybe so, but justice rests in the hands of every man, every woman, every child. And if we let justice slip through our fingers, even for just one moment, he has won.

I won't let him win.

They say that this is a battle between good and evil. Between light and dark. But I say that this battle is between fire and ice.

Love and hate.

_Splitting hairs_, you may say. _Good and evil, love and hate – same thing._ Perhaps. But I'd hate to make this predictable – war certainly isn't.

I wish I could say that the lines in this battle are clearly drawn. I wish I could tell you that I'm on the side of love, and he's on the side of hate. Good versus evil, the obvious choices. But it's never that cut and dry. It's never that easy.

I love my friends. I love this magical world in which I live. I love the freedom I have to be myself. I love a great many things, but I daresay that sometimes I _hate_ with more passion than I love.

I hate what he's done to us. I hate the fear he's thrust upon us. I hate the mere fact that he makes me hate. If it wasn't up to Harry to finish this war, I'd do it myself. In a heartbeat. Without batting an eye. I would do to him just as he's done to us.

I would make him afraid for his very life. I would make him weep sorrowful tears of mourning. I would make him live day to day never knowing when the end will come.

Maybe it's impossible, but it's my deepest, most desperate desire. It's the fire that burns in my chest and keeps me going throughout this whole horrible journey. It's the ice that freezes my usually loving heart.

I hate and I love. Does he?

It's obvious that he hates. He hates us. He hates what we stand for. He hates _me_. He hates my filthy, Muggle-tainted blood. He hates many things, but does he love? Does he love _anything_? Does he even have the capacity?

They say that he's pure hate. One hundred percent evil incarnate. But I don't believe it. There must have been love inside him at one point.

What made him this way? Was he a victim of circumstance? The product of his environment? Or did he just choose to turn his back on the love that once inhabited his cold heart? Whatever happened, the only love in him now is self-love. Love for his cause. Love for his evil plans. It's a love that he has chosen.

And _that_ is what sets us apart. _That_ is what draws the lines in this battle. Our choices. We have chosen our sides.

We are fire. Harry, Ron, Ginny, Dumbledore – all of us – we are the fire, the raging force that can burn and destroy the opposition. Our love, our desires, and our blazing passion can bring him to his knees.

He is the ice, the cold, hateful power that forms a barrier between us and the justice we seek. His hate, his malevolence, and his ability to paralyze with fear can keep us from our goal.

This _could_ be the end, but it isn't.

I won't say it.

I won't believe it.

I won't let him win.

Do your worst, Lord Voldemort. We're ready.

FIN


End file.
